Chapter 19 Stasya
19
Stasya
Stasya had been mopping floors, scrubbing greasy pots, and generally making herself useful in the servants’ quarters. Keeping busy helped the time pass more quickly. With luck the Ruler would not ask to see her again until Aleksis and the others were back. Aleksis had a way of calming folk down, giving them enough time to speak, explaining quietly instead of shouting the same thing over and over. Maybe all senior advisers were like that. It might be part of their training. Or maybe she’d misjudged him earlier on, just a bit.
Irina was on her feet at last, ghost-pale but moving about. Stasya noticed her watching intently as Biruta prepared bread dough with the help of several strong-looking girls. Perhaps Biruta and the others did not know Irina had baked bread for a whole village. Maybe she should mention it now.
Before she had decided whether that was a good idea or not, she found herself back in Elisabeta’s council chamber, with the Ruler asking the same questions, just with different words. There was no point in listening. Instead Stasya told herself a tale in her head, about a loaf of bread that came to life and started giving all the other foods in the kitchen crazy orders. She imagined Lukas listening; pictured his sweet smile. When the Ruler struck her on the cheek, she was shocked back to awareness.
‘Speak! Answer me!’ Elisabeta’s voice was iron-hard.
Stasya could find no answer. She had not heard the question, and even if she had, what could she say? How long had she been standing here, off in a dream? Too long, it seemed, for the Ruler was pale with fury, her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. ‘You will not return to the servants’ quarters,’ she said. ‘More appropriate arrangements have been made. The guard will escort you. Think over your situation with great care, young woman. Your lack of cooperation puts more than one person at risk. Go now.’
Stasya did not even attempt a bow. This woman might be Ruler of the Northlands, but she was nothing more than a bully. A person like that should not be in a position of power. She was tempted to say so, but imagined Aleksis watching and held her silence.
The guard led her outside, not into the garden but to a place that smelled of pigs, though she could not see any sign of them. The building they entered was barn-like, made from wood, and constructed hard up against the high outer wall of Dragon’s Keep. Oddly, its doors were reinforced with iron. Now she could hear the animals grunting, and their uneasy thoughts flooded her mind. Where did my sister go? I heard screaming. They took my babies. They hurt me! I’m hungry. And other voices. Rats, somewhere close by. An owl, perched in the rafters, dozing. If she was being put in here, she’d have to ask them to bring Flip, who’d been left with Irina. But not now.
The guard was explaining something. With an effort, Stasya shut out those other voices, the ones that came to her in silence. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘Wait in here for a bit, they’re bringing the other one.’
‘The other one?’
‘The other woman, your friend that came in with you.’
Before she could say a word, the man strode off, closing the outer door behind him. She heard the bolt slam shut; these folk must prize their pigs highly. Curse it, what was this? What was the point of it?
At least she was on her own for a bit. She might as well have a good look around the place. Pigs would likely make better companions than some of the human folk of Dragon’s Keep. The barn might even offer opportunities for escape. The man had said, You’ll be in there , and pointed to a closed-off area at the back. There was a door, bolted like the other one. She approached on cautious feet; perhaps the boar was in there, though more likely not. She would have felt his presence.
With her hand on the bolt, she opened her mind to whatever might lie beyond that barrier. I am a friend. I won’t hurt you. She waited; the only response was a stirring among the rats, who might have many hideaways in such a place. Stasya drew a steadying breath and slid the bolt open.
It was dark in there. Apart from the door, the only opening was a single high window opening back into the main area of the barn, too small to admit anything bigger than a bat or sparrow. This was probably a storage area, though it was empty now save for a few wisps of straw on the earthen floor and a bucket in the corner. Was this really where she was supposed to stay? And Irina too? There was nothing here. And it was cold. Even if they brought her belongings and Irina’s, even if they brought bedding, this would be … She imagined it with the door closed. At night, with no light at all. They couldn’t do this. They couldn’t! But of course they could. The Ruler of the Northlands could do whatever she wanted.
Stasya’s heart was thudding; dark images swirled in her mind. Irina cooped up in here, just when she was starting to come out from the shadows. Stasya herself shut in, helpless to do a thing. Or a terrible choice: Stasya agreeing to what the Ruler wanted, because if she didn’t, bad things would start happening to the people she cared about. Lady Elisabeta had hinted at that. Your lack of cooperation puts more than one person at risk . Irina. Lukas. Flip. Oh gods!
There might still be time to get out, to take action, to find Lukas, to … Every instinct called her to move, to find a way even if it meant trying to break down a barred door. But no. That was foolish. And there was a more pressing need, one she could deal with if she was quick. She went back out into the barn. Stood perfectly still, struggling to steady her breathing. In, two, three, four; pause; out, two, three, four; pause. And again. Her mind reached for Flip; found her on the pallet in the women’s quarters, half-asleep. Flip. Move. Now. She showed an image of the dog transforming into a tiny wren, flying out from whatever window she could find. It was hard to show the way to the barn clearly; the walk here had been confusing. Instead, she showed pigs, thinking the smell would guide Flip. She showed an iron-barred door, herself within the barn, the roosting owl, the rats hiding away. Come here, quickly. Don’t let anyone see you. Stay as a bird. She willed the guard not to return and interrupt her until this was safely done. Watch out for the owl , she added belatedly. It might be daytime, but who knew whether a hungry owl might still wake and see the visiting wren as a surprise meal?
She paced, waiting. What if they went in to take Irina before Flip had left the sleeping quarters? What if someone saw her change? What if … Stop it , she ordered herself. This might not be as bad as it seemed. When Aleksis got back, surely he would … what? The Ruler was the Ruler. She gave the orders; he only advised. Yes, he’d made meeting Lady Elisabeta less of an ordeal for her, just as he’d made the ride to Dragon’s Keep easier for Irina and Lukas. But hadn’t he been carrying out the Ruler’s orders at every point? He’d brought Stasya here so the Ruler could dig out her secrets and use them to reach the Hermit for her own selfish purposes. All that talk about making life better for her people was nonsense. What about the folk of Heartwood, whose lives she had ruined? The Ruler must consider them simple folk, too ignorant and lowly to matter.
Stasya pictured Irina lifting a tray of perfect rolls from the oven, the firelight illuminating her features. Lukas, his hands strong but gentle as he freed a goat that had become entangled in some bushes. Vidas grooming a horse in his stable yard, sharing a joke with Kiril; the two of them in gales of laughter. Kristina bending her head over her needlework, and a delicate border of wildflowers unfolding on the linen as she stitched. Farmer Jurgis addressing a village meeting, his voice strong and sure, his smile drawing in every person there. Simple folk, yes. Fine, good-hearted souls.
A high twittering from above startled her. Flip flew in. The owl stirred, then slept again, and the tiny bird came down to alight on Stasya’s shoulder. Good; at least she was safe. For now. Stasya showed her what had happened. Warned her that the guard would be back. Took her into the storage room and showed images of the three of them, Stasya, Flip and Irina, shut in there. For that, surely, was what these people intended. Even if Aleksis came back soon, and even if he tried to persuade the Ruler to let them return to the servants’ quarters, Lady Elisabeta would only say yes if Stasya agreed to her plan. She would sooner die.
For a moment Flip was a dog again, rubbing against her legs, whining to be picked up. ‘No,’ Stasya whispered. ‘Bird!’ But she gathered the dog up anyway, holding her against her chest, dropping a kiss on her head, touching her soft ears. Bird. Now. And Flip obeyed, flying up to perch high, but not too close to the owl. And just in time, for there were footsteps outside, and men’s voices, then a scraping sound as the bolt was drawn on the barn door. They were here.
The cold penetrated every corner; by night it was enough to freeze a person to the bones. Stasya and Irina had one blanket between them, and a threadbare old thing it was. Stasya was close to breaking her own rules and asking Flip to change. On such a night, a warm dog would have been worth her weight in gold. But Irina did not know Flip was anything other than an ordinary dog, and Stasya would not risk revealing the se cret even to her. Besides, who knew when a guard might suddenly come into the barn and see a dog where there had been none? Stasya wondered if anyone out there had noticed Flip was missing, or if anyone cared in the least that she and Irina were suddenly gone from the servants’ quarters. Maybe this kind of thing happened all the time at Dragon’s Keep.
It was too cold for sleep; the best way to get through the chill night would be by moving about and passing the time with conversation. Or stories. Since the two of them had been shut in here, Irina had huddled on the sparse straw, hugging the blanket around her and saying only the occasional word or two. ‘Here,’ when she’d offered Stasya a share of the blanket. That was earlier, when there had been enough light for them to see each other. ‘Sorry,’ when she stumbled over Stasya after visiting the privy bucket. Now, in the darkness, the sounds of pigs still came to them faintly. They were next door, Stasya guessed, in a separate enclosure to one side of the building. They were restless, scared, deeply unhappy. She should reach out to them, offer comfort of some kind. It was hard to know what to say, what mind-pictures to show. Perhaps they were awaiting slaughter. What story could a person tell that would be of any help? But she had to try. It was not only the wretched pigs who needed her, but also the woman shivering beside her.
‘You keep the blanket,’ she said. ‘I’m going to move around and try to get warm.’ The storage room was six paces long, four wide. As she walked to and fro, hands out in front to guide her, a story came to mind, sudden and startling. Should she tell it? Might it only make Irina sadder? Could the same story lift the hearts of both pigs and human women? Perhaps. It was worth trying. She’d tell it in words for Irina, and at the same time make mind-pictures for the pigs, and hope it helped both.
‘Once, in the time of our grandmothers, and in a place not so very far away, there lived a mother who was strong and brave. She was not afraid of anything. Neither a noisy farmer, nor a heavy draught horse, nor the wild north wind could frighten her; neither the deep pond nor the dark storm clouds nor the demands of her children disturbed her. She was the strongest mother in all the valley.’ A trace of moonlight showed itself beyond the small window, but within the chamber the darkness remained. Stasya sensed that Irina was watching her, but there was no reading her expression. High above them, Flip was following the story too; Stasya felt her thoughts: Yes! Go on! And make this a happy ending! But the true story did not have a happy ending. Tomas could not be brought back from the dead. The young of the pigs had been taken away to an uncertain future. The sows were unlikely to escape a life in which such losses must be endured over and over, the only alternative being the swift knife and the stew pot. More , Flip urged, jolting her back to the tale.
‘Life was happy, peaceful, busy. Until disaster struck the valley, and folk died.’ For the pigs, she showed a farmer herding them roughly into confinement, separating half-grown piglets from their mothers. ‘The mother had been a leader. She had helped feed the folk of the valley and had been a good friend to all. She was kind and thoughtful, and the son she raised had grown up to be a quiet, good young man, helpful and courteous. But a terrible thing happened, and the good son left that place forever, on a journey to another world.’ In the mind-picture, a sow watched as her piglets were loaded onto a cart and driven away, the young squealing in distress, the sow calling, calling as their voices faded away and the cart vanished down the road. From the pigsty nearby there was no sound at all. But Stasya knew the pigs were awake and aware.
‘The mother wanted to go with her son, to follow him. But on that road, there was no following. So, she sought the wisdom of the great goddess of creatures, herself sometimes called the Mother, who had the power to grant visions of past, present or future; of this world and the Afterworld, and sometimes even the Otherworld. Please show me my son, the mother begged. Show me where he is; show me he is well and happy.
‘In her mind the mother travelled then, a long, long way over stony ground, uphill and downhill. She walked in the rain, she walked in the freezing cold, she kept to the path through tempest and drought, one foot before the other. For even in visions, finding answers is not easy. At last, she came to a place like no other she had seen in her life, a place where warm light fell on fields of wildflowers, and strange birds flew overhead, singing in sweet voices. The mother knew without asking that she could go no further. To enter that place was to leave this world forever, and although she longed to take that one step forward, something held her back. She stood at the edge and called her lost one’s name, raising a hand in greeting, for although she could see no sign of him, she knew he was there. She sang a little tune she had sung when he was a baby, a song about rabbits in their burrows and birds in their nests that used to lull him to sleep. And when she was halfway through, another voice joined in: that of the lost son. With tears rolling down her cheeks, the mother sang with him, the whole song twice through, and by the end she could see him across the field, with animals around him – pigs, goats, sheep, a flock of chickens, and never a squabble among them – and a beaming smile on his face as he waved back to her. Not only that, but there was a man with him, a familiar, beloved man who now put his arm around his son’s shoulders. A man who would forever be five-and-twenty years old, and a boy who would be always eleven. There by his side was a faithful old dog whom she remembered well, a true companion.
‘Oh, how she longed to run to them! But it was not her time. Her son was with his father; they were happy. The creatures were peaceful and content in that place beyond the world she knew. This was what she had asked to see. She waved again, and smiled through her tears, and then they were gone. She was alone by her hearth fire, in whose flames she had seen the goddess. The sorrow would never quite leave her, but she could make her peace with it. She could live her life.’ In the mind-pictures, Stasya showed the sows their lost ones in a broad green field with a mud wallow, a shelter, ample fresh water. She could not offer them a better life, but at least their minds might be set at ease for a little. They might dream kinder dreams.
For some time after she finished, there was utter silence. Then Stasya felt Irina’s arms around her, and Irina’s head against her shoulder, and heard, through the sobs, Irina’s soft words, ‘Thank you, Stasya. Thank you.’